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Monday, November 29, 2010

Today Susie and I went op-shopping in an attempt to restock my diminished craft supplies from the markets, and I happened upon what appeared to be a very cool old beauty case in good nick. Upon further inspection, my opinion changed from very cool to unbelievably freaking awesome. Inside the case is an old Sunbeam hair-dryer, complete with rollers and little hair cap that the dryer plugs into. I enquired about the price of said item, and once I heard that it was going for a whopping $5, I tried not to wet myself, controlled my hyperventilating, and told the nice lady behind the counter that I believed I would be buying it.

When I got home I plugged it in for shits and giggles, half expecting it not to work. But of course – it’s perfect. It works like a beauty. I plan to be eventually sending this along to my darling mother to add to her eclectic collection of vintage and collectable goodies. My Mum collects pretty much everything, so it’s easy to pick up little bits and pieces for her on my little shopping ventures.

This blog post was inevitable at some point – I want to wax lyrical about my Mum. Everybody who knows me knows that I’m massively a Mummy’s girl, a fact which I am quite happy to admit. And the reason for this is quite simple – she’s the bombski.

My Mum, among other things, is strong, smart, beautiful, protective of her kids, a good cook, and funny as hell. She’s always willing to listen, will laugh with you, cry with you, and will offer to take out a contract on anybody who hurts you. There’s still one guy I knew who will not be lucky if he crosses paths with her. Which I totally dig. My Mum may come across as softly spoken and kind of timid, but she’s got fire in her belly, and occasionally lets a swear word slip (which delights me no end). She talks to our pets, thinks that it makes perfect sense to collect old knitting needles, debates the pronunciation of the word “segue”, and likes to do a bit of crafting. She’s even picked up on some of the Gen Y lingo, and refers to people as tools.

She’s also very reliable. I know that I can rely on her in times of need. Like the time that I was studying full-time, and working part-time, and came down with the flu. She came over to my place with a food care package containing curried lentils, veggies, and all of my favourites. She even included some pastries for dessert.

I can rely on her to laugh – even at traumatic experiences, when the only thing you CAN do is laugh. Last year I went on a particularly horrific date with a professional snake handler (that’s actually not a euphemism). The date started off with Thai food, moved onto catching a brown snake in the bush (which was then captured in a hessian bag and sat behind my seat in the car), and ended with trying to find frogs in the dark, in another part of the bush. I was wearing thongs and a skirt, and not exactly well-attired for the whole intrepid explorer thing. Needless to say, it was not love at first sight (it was more like “Holy f*** that SNAKE’SBITINGYOURF******LEG!!!”). However, I knew that if nothing else it was a great story (rivaled only by the date that took me to a graveyard) and that my Mum would see the humour in it. She did. Most other people were absolutely horrified, looked at me strangely, then walked away. Mum, on other hand, had a good belly laugh with me.

Moving has been hard for me with not being able to see my Mum. I miss our debriefings over coffee, showing off our latest op shop finds, and just being my mother’s daughter. We still catch up over the telephone every few days though, and there have been a few care packages sent between us. I like to think that one day she’ll move down here too, and we’ll wrought our own special kind of Mackey havoc on Tassie. But even if she doesn’t, she is still the bee’s knees, the cat’s meow, in my eyes an absolute rock star, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of bags--and softies--and fabric flowers--
Of necklaces--and bling--
And why the rain is pelting down--
And whether sock monkeys have wings."

The very first Made With Love Bazaar/Markets took place yesterday and it was a complete success! The day had dismal weather with rain threatening the whole time, but we still managed to have a stream of people constantly wandering through. All throughout the building were the sounds of laughter and people just generally having a fan-snazzy time (it didn't hurt that there were mini-cupcakes being handed out). I also managed to get a fair chunk of Christmas shopping done by perusing the other girl's stalls and doing a swap with them. A little bit of turning trixie in exchange for something awesome for my friends. Hurrah!

I didn't manage to do a blog post about the markets before they actually came - the week was spent with me being a slightly frantic mess wielding a sewing needle. My fingers paid the price... However, we have ANOTHER Made With Love Bazaar coming up in 2 weeks, and it promises to be even bigger and better. If you're around the area, drop in and have a look - there's so many awesome items there that even if you intend to only do Christmas shopping, you'll still manage to find a few pretties for yourself. If you're NOT around the area, all I can say is that it sucks to be you.

Now I'm going to inundate you with some photos of our collective awesomeness.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

I’ve never wanted to own a house. In fact, I’ve been quite against the idea of it. I get myself up on my own little soapbox, and exhort the evils of house-ownership. I think part of it is to do with my general commitment issues, and the fact that owning a property would hamper my ability to waft around on whatever whim comes over me. Even enrolling for a two year TAFE course had me breaking out in a cold sweat.

However, general personal instabilities aside, Susie and I have been positively devouring any home decoration shows that come our way. Feature walls, splashbacks, and skirting boards have become a part of our discussions, and I can’t help but feel a little wistful of the whole home reno thing. If you own a house, you can go absolutely stupid with decoration, and there’s nobody there to stop you *insert maniacal laughter here*. Unless you co-own. Then you decorate in the dark cloak of night, and pretend in the morning that you have no idea why there is now a fountain in the lounge room.

My wish list for a house:

A fair-sized mural or stencil in the lounge room – some epic piece is that preferably painted by me, but designed by somebody else.

A butler sink. I didn’t even know what this was until my recent immersion in decorating shows, and now I totally dig them. I want one, I want one, I want one.

A massive bird cage hanging from the ceiling in the kitchen. Not exactly sure why. I just think it could work.

A rope swing in the lounge room. Because I feel nostalgia for something that I’ve never in my life used. Hurrah for rope swings!

A craft room. Self-explanatory.

A walk-in wardrobe. In my last house, I had a slightly deficient room. It was missing the fourth wall, had a curtain for a door, had no windows, and used to house car parts. But I loved it. It suited me at the time, and even though it jokingly got called a shoebox/crawl space/changing room, it was cosy, and it was mine. Another thing it was lacking was a cupboard (shoeboxes don’t have enough room for things like, you know, furniture. Or people.). I had a dinky little clothes rail, clothes stashed in a suitcase under my bed, clothes stashed at the bottom of the clothes rail, and a tallboy whose drawers were collapsing because there was a clothes overload. I now have a cupboard, but still face the problem of my clothes occasionally bursting forth from it, because of my propensity to get op-shop bargains. But to have a whole room dedicated to housing them? Ahhh, bliss.

Floor to ceiling bookshelves, and a rolling ladder. Granted, I would probably hurt myself on the ladder, but it would be such a classy injury. “Oh yaaarrrs, yars, the accident in question occurred while I was reaching for my copy of War and Peace, and my foot did slippeth from the rail, and my derriere did meet the floor. Gave me a jolly good fright!”

A pink flamingo in the front yard. I’d have to balance all of that class with something totally kitsch, otherwise it’d all just go to my head.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

The past weekend had just terrible weather. Rain, wind, awfully cloudy - the perfect weather to stay inside. And craft! On both Saturday and Sunday I just sat myself down in front of the TV, had my favourite DVD’s going, and got down to some hectic crafting.

On Saturday I finally got around to decorating some photo frames. I’ve been doing these things for donkeys years, and find it very therapeutic to sand and glue and all of those fun things. A side effect of this is covering myself in PVA glue. And no, I’m not a kinky crafter. I’m just exceptionally clumsy. Although, even when doing something that you think you could do in your sleep, you still have the capacity to learn new things.

Lesson #1087 – An unco person with long legs sitting at a short table should NOT balance their cup of coffee on the aforementioned short table. Chaos ensues.

On Sunday I got my embroidering on. It all seemed like such a good idea. I have a funky OVAL embroidery hoop, some great fabric (remnants from my muu-muu), and a great design as a basis. Embroidery fail. It looks pretty dodgy. The stencil was of a cassette tape, and with my enviable stitching skills I’ve somehow ended up with a cassette tape that looks furry. It’s quite reminiscent of Meret Oppenheim’s surrealist/dada furry teacup. Not really the look I was going for, but at least it shows that I’ve remembered SOMETHING from year 11 art.

And now for something exciting…. *drum roll*…. turning trixie is going to be collaborating with the very talented Elyse Hendry to create some super cute appliqué designs. Elyse and I go way back (to when we were both newbies at TAFE), and over the years I’ve seen her go from strength to strength with her illustration work. She also answered my SOS during a html disaster I was experiencing, but that’s another story. She has kindly allowed me to nick some of her illustrations to make into little stitchy items, and hopefully I can do them justice!

Sarah’s Super Awesome DVD List For Crafting:

Ghostbusters

Blues Brothers

Scrubs

Spaced

Run Fat Boy Run

Shaun Of The Dead

The Big Nothing (in other words, pretty much anything with Simon Pegg in it)

Friday, November 12, 2010

A few nights ago I was reading the latest blog offering on Verity Clothing, and at the end of the post she is discussing irrational fears. It got my mind ticking over about irrational fears, especially this part:

“Immediately after my shriek, my husband ran in thinking that I was getting murdered. He asked me later why I had screamed like that. I assured him that I had no control over what I did, or what sounds issued from me. Irrational fears are just that: irrational.”

The whole post was rather amusing, as it is when you don’t understand people’s fears, and don’t actually have them yourself. However, I have been subject to torment by people who find my own irrational fears funny, and I’m here to tell you – stop it. Whilst seeing me shrieking and flailing may tickle your fancy, and taking photos of me in such a state might float your boat, my fancy remains untickled, and my boat, sadly, is not floating. I try to take it in good humour, but really… there’s only so much a girl can take.

Irrational Fear #1: Feet

Do not put your feet near me. Do not attempt to touch my feet. Do not touch things of mine with your feet. Do not pick things up with your feet, and then pass them to me. Especially do not put your feet on my pillow – this just leads to extra laundering duties for me. During a bit of a play-fight with my old housemate, I had slapped him on the arm, and then run away. I suppose, having initiated the fight, I should have anticipated him to up the ante. But seriously, he plays dirty. He cornered me in our kitchen, and pointed his filthy, socked foot at me. I shrieked and squealed, possibly flailed, and then tried to stop flailing as it meant that I moved closer to his foot. Stopping mid-flail isn’t easy though. He also threatened to take his sock off and throw it at me. Vocal cords hoarse from extended shrieking, shaken, and no longer in a playing mood, I begged for a truce. Truce thus reached, I retreated and kept on my best behaviour. For at least an hour or two.

Irrational Fear #2: Big fish

Big fish give me the heeby-jeebies in a big way. They’re so big, and how small are their brains?? It’s not natural. I swear, every time I see one it’s just plotting a way to get out of its tank, or the ocean, and it’s figuring out a way to come and get me. I swear it is. There’s some sort of conspiracy going on here, and I don’t like it at all. The idea of giant squid has also plagued me over the years. They’re so BIG. In fact, one might even go as far as to say that they’re giant. But they’re squid. The whole thing just messes with my head.

FOOTNOTE: Ok, I was just reading an article on giant squid so that I could present you, my incredulous readers, with some giant squid facts so that you could understand and share my fear. All that I think I’ve done, though, is scare myself more. I also gagged just a minute ago. All this time I’ve been scared of giant squid (and yes, yes, I’m quite aware of the low likelihood of ever coming across one, but hey – irrational), and now I learn that there’s actually a bigger squid out there. A COLLOSAL squid. Holy Mary mother of God. Note to self: Never read about giant squid again.

Monday, November 8, 2010

This will be my first soapbox blog post. It’s something that’s close to my bleeding heart – animal welfare. I’ve always been very fond of animals – to the point that I’m quite convinced that I’ll end up as a crazy cat lady. And in my more maudlin moments, I imagine a Bridget Jones-esque scenario involving me dying alone in an apartment and being eaten by cats, as opposed to Alsatians.

For a while now I’ve been volunteering at the RSPCA in Burnie, which only has small animals like cats, rabbits and guinea pigs. It’s actually a lot of fun for the most part. I help clean out the cages and in the meantime get lots of cuddles from animals. My motivation for helping them out wasn’t completely selfless though. My own cat still lives in NSW, and I miss her terribly. Her name is Torrance, but is more often known as Fatty. She has a very changeable temperament, drools far too much, and is known to seek revenge when she is cranky. But I love her – drool and all. So the RSPCA gives me time to chill with cats and get some quality animal hugging time in.

But as much as I enjoy working there, it can be pretty upsetting as well. I’m quite the sensitive young lady, and just can’t believe how some people treat their animals. And I haven’t even seen any of the abuse cases yet – I’ve only come across plain and simple stupidity.

There are lots of reasons why the RSPCA ends up with these animals, but the bottom line is that these little critters are just waiting for somebody to take them home to a loving and caring environment.

One fellow in particular has really gotten his rarely used claws into my heart (and his fur all over my black t-shirt). His name is Mouse, he’s 3 years old, and he’s blind. Mouse is just the coolest guy. His blindness doesn’t seem to bother him or intimidate him. As soon as his cage is opened, Mouse strolls out into the corridor to check things out. He loves exploring, and always comes back to have a quick rub up against your legs just to check out what you’re doing. He’s brave, friendly, and loves a good cuddle.

I’m really worried about him though. People come into the shelter wanting to pick kittens, or at the very least, an animal without an impediment. And especially coming into kitten season – Mouse is going to be overlooked. What I don’t think people see is that he’s actually pretty independent, and looks out for himself.

Basically, what I wanted to say in this post is that if you’re going to be getting an animal at any point, please consider getting it from a shelter, and don’t discount animals just because of their age. Breeders are always going to manage to sell their animals, but some animals sit in shelters for months, without a home to go to. As for the older animals – they have just as much personality as the babies, require less training (in the case of cats, they’re already house-trained), and have a lot going for them.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

So for the past week I’ve been working on projects from my lovely new book, “Sew La Tea Do”, by Pip Lincolne (of Meet Me At Mikes fame). I love this book as much as the first Meet Me At Mikes book. Everything from the projects to the layout of the book itself, to the wording and imagery is just dandy. It’s all very yum. I only have one small grievance with this new book – small being the key word. I was all excited about the fact that it had a few clothes patterns, and set about making a dress from it. The excitement ended around the point that I realised unless I shrunk about 6 inches, and took in a few inches from my sides, this whole thing wasn’t quite going to work. The patterns have small-medium, or medium-large sizing on it, but the medium to large is not happening for anybody over a size 10. Or 5 feet. It’s ESPECIALLY not happening for “girls who like dessert” (quote taken from the eloquent Michelle Walker). Anyway, slightly downhearted I finished what I like to think of as the manchester dress. It’s fashioned from a bed sheet and a pillow case, and cost me a princely sum of approximately 80 cents.

My second project is a super easy cushion cover made from a bed sheet (ahhh, do you see a theme emerging?), and a men’s pyjama top. I feel ridiculously proud of this little piece. As I mentioned, it is stupidly easy, and takes about 20 minutes to do. However, lately I’ve been questioning my sewing ability and pattern-matching skills. I was worried that something that seemed so easy, that I’d picked fabulous fabrics for, was going to end up like something I’d vomited during some sort of creative frenzy trip. But it didn’t *insert celebratory message here*. It’s ever so cute, and did I mention – it’s easy as pie.

And the piece de resistance… my manchester muu-muu. Yes, that’s right – I made a Homer Simpson dress. When I started making what was initially a tunic dress, I thought ah-ha. Pip Lincolne, I’m onto you and your sizing. So I measured the pattern, measured myself, added a little bit extra for comfort, and felt quite smug with myself the whole time. I think you can guess what happened. Basically, it looks like I’ve just draped a sheet over myself and called it a dress. Luckily I took my muu-muu into Stitch ‘N’ Bitch the other night, and some of the dress-making prodigies in there helped me figure out how to make it into something a bit more presentable. So, one day, I’ll get around to making those adjustments.

I’m also working on some goodies to be sold (hopefully) at a craft market that some of the Stitch ‘N’ Bitch girls are organising. It’s going to be starting at the end of November, and promises to be a bit of fun. Organised little gal that I am, I’ve written all sorts of list and plans for it. Now I just have to make the stuff. Hurrah!

I Am...

A twenty-something currently living on the North-West coast of Tasmania. I indulge in a certain amount of craftiness, well-intended rambling, and too much coffee. My name is Sarah - welcome to my world.